


Teacup Storm

by pssychotropical



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Long-Term Relationship, M/M, Mark's a young addition to this duo, Open Relationship, Polyamory, and a happy ending?, and yuta's a switch in case someone's wondering, johnny's an architect, some micommunication on the way, that's new, yuta's a photographer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:39:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21503863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pssychotropical/pseuds/pssychotropical
Summary: Johnny and Yuta are long-term boyfriends who have recently decided to open their relationship. Enter Mark, one of Yuta's lovers, whom it turns out they both want to get closer with.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Nakamoto Yuta, Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Nakamoto Yuta/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Suh Johnny/Nakamoto Yuta/Mark Lee
Comments: 31
Kudos: 393





	Teacup Storm

It was to prevent the breakage in their relationship, that's how Johnny chose to think of it. Like patching a hole before the water could come through it, he solved the issue before it technically became one.

So one late evening, as they were lying in bed but not yet going to sleep, Yuta flipping through a fine arts magazine, dressed in a bathrobe, hair neck-long and covering one eye, the bedside lamp the only source of light, Johnny went, "Can we talk?"

He and Yuta not only had lived together for years now, they had also become parents to a stray cat, and because at this point in the relationship it seemed like they knew close to everything about one another, that's why Johnny felt confident it had to be him coming up with the initative.

Yuta lifted his eyes off the fine arts magazine, holding the page he was about to turn between his middle and ring fingers. He looked handsome like this. He brought to mind rich guys lying on lawn chairs by the pool and watching their pool boy fish the leaves out of the water, tight swim briefs on. Only Yuta rarely used their pool. Pity because it was one of Johnny's favourite architectural projects. A sunken lounge, stainless steel scuppers, acrylic covered windows and an adjusting pool cabana. Modern but with a reflective mood.

"What do you want to talk about?"

And Johnny tried to remember everything he'd prepared to say. As with the architectural projects, he liked having things organised, pre-planned and rehearsed. Things such as serious relationship conversations. He wanted to talk about how lately they didn't have sex and it was clearly Johnny's fault. About how Yuta seemed so far away from him while being in the same room, brass rods, portugese inspired tiled flooring, bold colours of textiles, also Johnny's project.

"I was thinking..." he went, still weighing the words on the tip of his tongue. "And this is a suggestion based on your preferences, not exactly mine."

Yuta put the magazine down and turned on his side, propping his chin on his fist, elbow on the pillow. "What preferences you mean?"

A few second long pause, Johnny would remember it later on. Then his own voice saying, "I was thinking we should open our relationship."

As with many things, Yuta wasn't the sort of either or guy whose choices could be easily predicted based on the past experience. Quite the opposite. Sometimes Johnny had the impression that there was a whole collection of different Yutas and he never knew which of them he would be waking up right next to the following morning. Supposedly he was familiar with every single one of them, but in practice, the element of surprise remained. There was a Yuta who acted sweet and joked around, and there was this other Yuta who didn't want to talk and you had to leave him alone for hours, alone with his camera, that is, looking for the inspiration for his upcoming exhibition. Some days, the Yuta waking up beside Johnny would ask to be cuddled, other times he would spend the entire day snapping back at every question. One of the things you can't preplan. Johnny hated those.

So what he meant that evening was for Yuta to fulfil his sexual needs with other men, assuming the dominant role like he sometimes wished to and couldn't with Johnny.

And so it happened.

And so one week later, coming back from work to the sight of Yuta looking like he'd just had sex, naked under his bathrobe and smelling of someone else's cologne, Johnny knew that the initiative made it into reality. And part of him was glad that it did.

The deal was, Yuta could sleep with guys but only bottoms, only strangers and only after letting Johnny know beforehand. Simple as that. The process of filling a gap that Johnny couldn't. A healthy way for their relationship to progress in which Johnny didn't have to feel jealous. And he really wasn't.

In the evening, getting to bed together, Yuta would tell him about who he had slept with that day and how they had done it, a brief recap that totally turned Johnny on. Midway through Yuta's narration, they would start kissing and by the end of it, they would both climax. Both of them satisfied. So there was no problem.

No problem, that is, until Mark appeared.

  
  


  
  


Snap back to some design event one or two years before, to which Johnny was invited as the owner of an architecture and interior design company to make contacts and meet suppliers, the usual stuff. The gathering of a bunch of aesthetics oriented gays with scarfs around their necks, most of them Italian since that's where the event took place. In the evening they all went drinking, to the freshly renovated hotel lobby where earth-friendly materials were paired with concrete, and even though Johnny didn't remember much of what happened, he certainly remembered how three wine bottles later Yuta was kissing one of the French designers. It was after a short conversation in broken English about the significance of face in portaiture and how the face of a human, standing in opposition to the body, symbolises their soul, and how Yuta, as a photographer, was fascinated by human soul, and a moment later Johnny took a glance and here they were, standing by the bar, Yuta with his fingers in the guy's hair, holding tight a tuft while pushing his tongue down the guy's throat. One of those images you can't quite get rid of.

It's just that contrary to what he expected, it didn't anger Johnny and he didn't find himself rushing to stop it. Instead, seated with a glass of wine and flipping through a catalogue with the newest trends in kitchen decoration, his suit jacket on the back of the sofa and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up his arms, he watched it happen.

The following morning, fighting his hungover in the hotel room's living room, Yuta went, "I don't think he understood when I said that I have a boyfriend."

He woke up as the soft and caring Yuta, as oppose to the previous day's sharp and defiant version of himself, and when he spoke up, his voice took on the unusually apologetic tone. Hair pulled up into a bun and an earring dangling from his right ear, he leaned against the back of the sofa, towards Johnny.

"I got so drunk I can't put into words how ashamed I am of myself. I don't know what got into me."

When Johnny didn't respond, it wasn't intended to evoke guilt in his boyfriend. He just didn't know what to say.

"I know you're angry," Yuta insisted.

"Am I?"

Seemingly not registering his words, Yuta leaned even further, until Johnny could smell the sweet melon hotel shampoo he'd used, "It's absolutely unacceptable and I want to promise you that it won't happen ever again."

Johnny remembers that.

  
  


  
  


Snap forward to how Johnny met Mark for the first time.

He was coming back home from a trip to one of the mansions his company was working on, the sort of regular visit to make sure everything was going according to Johnny's detailed plans, charts and diagrams. He had called Yuta on his way back a few times but none of the calls were answered and that's why he figured the man to be out of home, busy in his studio, possibly cut away from the rest of the world the way he usually was when working the soul out of his sitter right through the lense.

He opened the door and walked in, in the corridor taking his sunglasses off and hanging them on the collar of his shirt. He was carrying a briefcase to his home office but as soon as he approached the living room, he realised that he wasn't exactly alone.

The sound he registers is that of the sofa creaking, Johnny's choice: leatherette, corner, modern black, occupying the sunken space of the living room. Add to it bare skin slapping and moaning, which Johnny doesn't recognise, since the only moans he's acquainted with belong to his boyfriend.

Just as he's approaching the glass doors into the living room area, he hears a question being a asked, which is stretched over a sequence of loud moans. "I think I've heard something."

Through the glass doors, Johnny can see Yuta, naked and in his arms holding close together a pair of skinny legs whose owner must be lying flat behind the back of the leatherette sofa. Yuta's hair is sweaty, and the strands that escaped the bun move in rhythm with his pounding. "My boyfriend," Yuta goes, his voice sharp and rapsy, short of breath, "but he'll have to wait."

And that's what Johnny's going to do.

The other man gasps, and even though Johnny can't see it, he's trying to imagine his looks on the basis of the voice alone. He's trying to figure out his boyfriend's taste in men, a little game of guessing before the great reveal. Out of the pocket of his suit, he brings a cigarette and lights it up, and he's already smoking the moment Yuta looks at the glass doors. From behind them, Johnny lifts one hand and waves. The glass is not exactly soundproof but it noticeably muffles and distorts the sounds. In the time it takes for Johnny to smoke half the cigarette, dropping the ashes into the fashionable snake plant in a porcelain pot, the man Yuta's screwing comes, letting out a half-suppressed cry. Yuta goes, "Good boy," and then comes as well, leaning towards the man in a way that his body disappears behind the sofa's back. Seconds later his naked body stands up and he carries the condom to the kitchen rubbish bin.

That's when Johnny walks in.

It's a curious, strange situation in which he's experiencing Yuta anew, blindly groping around for clues. His boyfriend, observed from the outside of a sexual act, having reached his climax without Johnny's agency, seems to be something explorable. A new material or fabric to work into an already existing project.

He walks to the kitchen areas as well, to throw out the cigarette. He goes, "Where's the cat?"

And Yuta, his naked frame propped against a kitchen unit, its surface made of organic basalt tiles, he giggles, clearly still high on his orgasm. "Closed upstairs. Didn't want him to think I'm cheating on his dad."

Johnny smiles, a bit awkward, like he isn't sure if he should. Then, he takes a look at the sofa for the first time. The body left on top of it is small, much smaller than both him and Yuta, a man whose age Johnny could guess to be just around twenty. Small, dainty cock, stomach covered with come. He sits up, reaching for a pair of glasses from the coffee table, and Yuta goes, "The bathroom's upstairs." Then shows him the direction with his one hand.

Through the glasses, the man blinks his eyes, looking back at Johnny but not saying anything. He has black hair and sharp facial contours, like those European designers Yuta seems to have always loved kissing. Yuta introduces him, "That's Mark."

"Sorry to have interrupted you," Johnny goes.

Mark doesn't respond. Still breathless, he picks up his clothes off the floor and departs.

With Mark's bare feet stepping up the stairs, Yuta goes, "So how was it?"

"Very hot."

Yuta lets out a chuckle. "I meant the meeting with your client." He pushes himself off the kitchen unit and starts walking to where his clothes are discarted on the floor. Johnny follows him.

"Less hot but thanks for asking." With one buttock, Johnny sits himself on the back of the sofa and points at where the two were having sex. "Definitely not gonna clean this," he announces. The words earn him a smile on Yuta's face. "It's the same guy from last week?"

Yuta puts his oversized shirt on and begins buttoning it up, pastel coloured pattern of geometrical figures. He nods. "Takes too much time to fix a new hook-up every time and he's always free." Saying the words, he looks at Johnny, like he's expecting him to disagree.

But Johnny goes, "If something's practical, keep it," and it sounds like a saying he's just recalled. "The real question is, is he actually legal?"

Yuta's expression changes. Sly smile. "I've seen his driving licence and it says that he's twenty one."

Johnny's arms crossed on his chest, right below the sunglasses, he nods his head. "Doesn't look like it. That's pretty hot," he comments.

By the time Mark descends the staircase, they're both back in the kitchen area, preparing coffee in a chemex brewer, Yuta wearing his underwear and shirt, hair fixed into a new bun. When Mark stops by the sofa, there's a moment of consternation, as neither him nor Yuta say a word long enough for Johnny to realise that he's the one expected to do the talking part. Make the decision. Whether he wants to bid Mark goodbye or have a chat. Quick time event.

So Johnny goes, "Coffee?" and Mark says that he doesn't drink, thanks, rolling the sleeves of his unzipped denim hoodie jacket and hanging his flannel bag on one shoulder, a signal that he's ready to go so it won't be too awkward if they want him to.

"I used someone's towel," he explains, coming up closer and this time stopping by the kitchen island, hands on the back of one of the chairs. "I guessed it wouldn't matter anyway." So Johnny says that yeah, it doesn't, and Yuta says nothing. "Really cool place, by the way. Love the skylights. And the pool on the outside. Cool project."

That has Johnny activated. He chuckles.  "Finally someone to say that. You know, for a photographer, Yuta doesn't pay enough attention to the aesthetic details of his own house."

"He's an architect," Yuta supplies, politely, from where he's standing by Johnny's side, legs crossed at the ankle, now more focused on Johnny than their guest.

"An architect and a photographer. That's cool."

"It only seems so compatible," Johnny jokes, but Yuta doesn't catch it. He frowns.

For a moment longer, Mark's hands hold the kitchen island chair, watching the other two, then he pushes himself off of it. The silence pops. "I'll be going."

And Yuta agrees immediately. "Yeah. I'll text you same as today."

And when a minute later the distinct sound of the front door being closed echoes, Johnny goes, "Did you just kick him out?"

Yuta moves his cup of coffee from before his lips, eyes wider in momentary surprise. "You looked uncomfortable."

"You think so?"

"I don't need to meet him again. I just said it for the sake of it."

"It's fine." Johnny takes a look at where the leatherette sofa still shines with bodily fluids.

  
  


  
  


And so with Johnny saying that it's fine, Yuta did meet Mark again. A couple of times. And then more. And one evening, leaning over Mark's naked body spread on top of the hotel room bed, his hands holding Mark's thighs, Mark's ankles propped on Yuta's shoulders, beds sheets crumpled, Yuta asked if perhaps he could take a picture of Mark some time. Eyes rolling. A blush. It was Yuta's favourite position because the whole time, moving inside of Mark, he could watch the younger man's facial expressions. When they both came, there was a longer silence full of breathing, after which Mark asked if Yuta really meant it.

"Faces tell their own stories," Yuta whispered, to Mark's chest before kissing it. He never did that to any of his previous lovers, but then, none of them were Mark. "They attract me. It's like a magnet. I want to have your face too."

"Yeah?" Mark kept his eyes slightly squinted, so Yuta sat up to hand him his pair of glasses. Mark thanked, putting them on and then shaking his head so that his sweaty hair would leave his forehead, all of it at once.

"Let's say it's for my private collection. Would you sit for me?" He watched Mark smile, sheepishly.

So a few days later they met in Yuta's studio.

Being together in the studio differed significantly from all the times they had met before because it didn't start from sloppy kisses against the closed doors and wouldn't abruptly end right after the orgasm, with a few evasive comments to cap it off and maybe a vague agreement that they would see each other again in an unspecified future. Sometimes one more kiss goodbye; Yuta liked those the most. When they didn't rush and the purpose wasn't to the make the other person hard and needy.

In the studio, as Yuta was working out the settings of his camera, Mark's silhouette stirred against the white backdrop. Yuta enjoyed the moments of Mark's open nervousness. It made him think of Johnny and how Johnny never seemed to act similar way. Years back, when Yuta had asked Johnny to pose, Johnny had said, "Why would you need my photo when you have the real me?"

One more stir, Yuta observes it out of the corner of his eyes, and then to cut the prolonged silence, Mark goes, "So how's your boyfriend?"

Yuta goes, "Fine." He moves towards where Mark is sitting, hands carrying the camera closer, careful as if it could scare Mark away, silver rings on almost all of Yuta's fingers, a collection of coloured strings and beaded bracelets around his one wrist.

"I'm sorry about the last time," Mark goes. He frowns the moment Yuta's eyes disappear behind the camera. "I just didn't expect him to come in like this."

"I was also surprised but it turned out to be pretty hot." Yuta hunches his back just so slightly, then takes two steps to the side and Mark's head moves accordingly. "I think he prefers when I sleep with you rather than keep searching for new guys. You know. With new guys you never know when you bump into a weirdo. Johnny's just so caring like this."

Mark doesn't comment. Putting the camera away for a moment, Yuta turns on the reflectors that stand on each side of Mark's body and the light splashes across the younger man's face, making him squeeze his eyes shut behind his small, round glasses.

Yuta smiles but Mark can't see it. "And he agrees that you're good-looking."

"He's good-looking too."

"I'll let him know." Yuta's voice makes it sound like he's joking, not a big deal. Like it's just a thing to say. He takes another step closer, camera back in his hands, and tells Mark to change his pose so that the light travels down his cheekbones just the right way, and Mark follows the instruction with no questions asked.

There's something vulnerable to the way Mark's seated, holding his one hand in the other, a bit stooped, his legs not reaching the floor but dangling centimetres above it, crossed at the ankle, unable to see Yuta while Yuta can see him to the detail. But at the same time, in those sharp shapes that his body carries, in the way he begins to look into the lense, right into where he knows Yuta to be hiding, he's also confident. And Yuta's fingertips are itching to capture it all, those both sides of the man, catch them, hold, stretch, make into a series of photographs.

"I'm really glad you had the time to come," he confesses, the sincere gratitude seeping into his voice.

"These days I have all the time in the world," Mark jokes, in some amusing misery that briefly flashes through the features of his face. There's a moment of hesitancy, and only as Yuta murmurs to make him continue, he goes, "I'm still job hunting, that's why."

  
  


  
  


Upon hearing the question, Johnny isn't exactly surprised but neither does he have a ready-made reply. He walks up to the sofa where Yuta's lying with his arts magazine propped on his chest, this week's edition, mouth munching on cocoa bits with lucuma powder, and asks, "Are you for real now?"

Yuta looks up at him. His body is clad in a designer alpaca shawl, earrings and piercing shining on his ear, the confident version of himself that you don't want to approach with things that aren't of the highest importance. "You've told me that yourself. That you're looking for some sort of personal assistant."

Johnny corrects him, "It's a purchasing manager."

"It can be anything. You own the company." Yuta flips the page. "Make him call suppliers, book flights, bring coffee. I'm sure he can do those things."

Johnny crouches by the sofa, crossing his arms on the back of it and looking down at Yuta. "And why are you asking me that?"

"He's a good fuck and he posed for a few photos for my private collection. I wanted to be nice."

"If this is all that it takes, then why haven't I already hired all of your previous fucks?"

Yuta shrugs. "None of them were looking for a job?" His eyes and Johnny's eyes meet. "Listen. It's just a suggestion. I'm not going to insist."

  
  


  
  


The next time Yuta brings Mark home, Johnny makes sure to come earlier, just in time to meet him.

As opposed to all the other strangers Yuta had sex with for the last couple of months, most of whom Johnny only saw briefly on the screen of Yuta's phone, Mark's Mark and Johnny feels like he knows him just enough for the whole thing not to feel awkward.

Mark's the fresh breeze blowing in through a window.

His feet bare against the portugese inspired tiles, painted azure blue and coral, he's standing in the kitchen area, pouring himself water, taking a sip, and then with the glass still pressed to his lips, turning to face Johnny. A moment of surprise, like being caught red-handed. Mark's Adam's apple pops up and down. His glasses are at the tip of his nose and he's wearing a grey hoodie.

"Still freaking out?" Johnny goes, with laugh in his voice. He stops by the art deco sculpture of a naked, green dancer, hands in the pockets of his suit bottoms. "So has Yuta already told you?"

Mark puts the glass down. His lips move to form a smile, as if in a disagreement with the rest of Mark's body language. "Just so we're clear, this is not what I meant when I mentioned looking for a job."

"You happened to be in the right place at the right time. We're two rich pricks and I'm looking for a new employee."

"Are you really though?" As if mimicking Johnny's pose, Mark shoves his both hands into the pockets of the hoodie. "What would I do?"

"Be my personal assistant." When Mark bursts into an awkward laugh, he corrects himself, "In the documents, it'll say purchasing manager."

"Your personal assistant. I get it."

Johnny shrugs his shoulders. "You can quit any time you want. I'll fix you a special contract and you can look for a job elsewhere in the meantime."

"Listen, John--"

"I prefer Johnny."

"Johnny." It's the first time he hears Mark say his name and the way it rolls off of Mark's tongue amuses him greatly. "I do need a job and I can start right away. I just don't want you to think things about me."

"I'm not. It's just a friendly proposition." Johnny gets one hand out of his suit bottoms, comes over to the teak wood, built-in fridge and brings out a bottle of wine. Every move of his is observed by Mark's big eyes. Big like he's in the constant state of being on edge, on the verge of nervously looking away. "Are you staying for dinner?"

And without a moment's hesitation, Mark says, "I have other plans for the night," which words, honest as they are, cause Johnny to wonder what plans could be more important than spending more time with Yuta.

Speaking of whom, the steps creaking on the wooden staircase announce his arrival before his silhouette appears. Both Mark and Johnny look in the direction, synchronised movement of their chins. First the feet in a pair of handmade, custom slippers, then naked calves and knees followed by the skirts of a satin bathrobe with an asymmetrical pattern of a peacock on his left shoulder. He has his hair lose, curly, reddish brown at the ends with black roots close to the scalp.

"So did you guys talk it through?" he asks as soon as he approaches them. "Did Mark agree?"

Mark says yes, but before he opens his mouth to elaborate, explain himself same way he did to Johnny, Yuta wraps his hands around Johnny's neck and kisses him on the mouth, silencing the conversation before it really starts.

The gesture turns into a small performance, a few sighs escaping, then into an intimate moment Mark must be feeling like he's intruding on. Yuta's hands rake through Johnny's hairsprayed hair and Johnny's hands get hold of Yuta's waist, pulling him closer, touching to check if there's any underwear beneath the bathrobe. When the kiss stops and Yuta's lips finally proceed to nibble on Johnny's ear, Johnny knows the steps one by one, Yuta always does the kissing part the same way, choreographed they way they both like it, Johnny goes, "I think Mark's leaving."

"I know." Yuta turns his face towards Mark only to say, "Johnny will be waiting for your application."

  
  


  
  


So Mark appeared in the company the following week.

Just like with their house, the company's building was one of Johnny's projects, both on the outside and inside, incorporating his signature aesthetic choices. Vivifying colours and amphitheatre seating, in-situ concrete and exposed bricks, sweeping strokes of geometry and the postmodern element of traditional temples being recontextualised into work space. Mark recognised it, and even though he wasn't a specialist, hearing him compliment the place made Johnny feel really good about himself.

Mark's computer desk was located on a different floor, in the open space that had the view on the glass atrium, and Johnny made sure to every now and then drop by and check up on him. Then, he checked up on him without a reason. He found himself unconsciously drifting in Mark's direction, visiting the lower floor just so to see the man's back hunched over the desk or his sharp face lit up by the screen's blue light. Every now and then, they would exchange a couple sentences and Mark's cheerfulness would always brighten Johnny's day.

  
  


  
  


How Johnny met Yuta was a party of a friend of a friend where Yuta's face was hidden behind a camera for the most part, body taking poses and leaning forward to take better shots of everyone else laughing, drinking and dancing. He didn't introduce himself and Johnny only got to know his name secondhand, dropped in the middle of other people's conversation. "Yuta," someone said, turning to the camera, "will you ever join us?"

Someone else said, "He's so excentrique like this."

Back then, Yuta had his hair short and blond, the collection of his piercings not yet established and only one earring dangling from each earlobe. It was Yuta's laugh that Johnny heard, first sound out of Yuta's mouth, carefree and daring. At some point during the night, the weapon in Yuta's hands, camera, aimed at Johnny, and that's how their conversation began.

"Johnny," he introduced himself, outstretching his hand for a handshake. Yuta's hand reached back. Long fingers, heavily ringed, a silver watch wrapped around his wrist. Then, finally, the face emerged too. And it was just like Johnny imagined it.

"Yuta."

"A photographer?"

Yuta nodded. His earrings moved. "Don't pose though. I'm practising wabi-sabi."

Johnny felt his body attempt to close the distance between them, arms sliding on the bar towards where Yuta was seated. He ordered drinks for both of them before asking, "And that is?"

"A technique. Or a philosophy. Nothing should be posed because we don't try to reach perfection. Nothing's perfect, everything's changing. Constant movement. You break the conventions of photography and achieve emotional resonance." Midway through the monologue, he lifted the camera and snapped a photo, the exact moment Johnny was taking a mouthful of his whisky, so quick it must have turned blurry. "And who are you?"

  
  


  
  


Saturday evening Johnny dresses up in a bottle green suit for the occasion of wine drinking and cake eating. It's one of the things he and Yuta do. They invite their mutual friends, usually photographs, designers, architects and art gallery owners, and organise evening dinners with music and candles. It's the visual side of things that's important. It's about the attention to detail.

Fixing the collar of his shirt and then the watch on his wrist, Johnny walks down the staircase to the sight of Yuta lighting up the candles on the glass coffee table in the sunken living room space. The candles reflect in the windows looking over the pool. Yuta's velvet suit shines coral pink.

"Tonight we're staying home alone," Yuta goes, hearing Johnny approach him. He doesn't look around. Takes care of last two candles and puts the lighter down. "Just you, me and rosé wine."

Johnny kisses him on the cheek before they both sit down. "Just the two of us? None of your lovers gonna pop in here in the meantime?" he jokes.

Yuta's face, lit up by the candle light, winces. "It's just Mark. I've never brought any other guy home."

Johnny lifts his hands up, open palms. "I know. I'm just joking. Mark's special."

Yuta doesn't comment. He picks the wine bottle and proceeds to open it himself. Johnny watches, one arm hugging the back of the sofa. Same one Mark was fucked into just a couple weeks ago. And as though Yuta's able to read Johnny's thought off of his face alone, he goes, "So how's he at work?"

Johnny takes a glass from Yuta. "No problems that I would know of. How's he as your sitter?"

Smelling the wine, Yuta considers the question. "Inspiring," he decides to say after a pause. "If he gives me his permission, I'll exhibit some of the photos. What do you say?"

"I've nothing against it."

Yuta smiles with one corner of his lips. The piercings on his ears twinkle as he shakes his head. "You never do," he comments, and for a moment Johnny doesn't know what he means by that. If it's a complaint. "Quick question then. It does excite you, correct?"

"What exactly?"

"That I fuck him."

Johnny changes his pose, thinking. All of a sudden, he's unsure which one of Yutas he's dealing with at the moment and he hesitates whether he should be looking for a catch. Legs spread, holding the wine glass between his knees with both hands, he hunches. "You know that it does. It turns me on when you sleep with other guys."

Yuta releases a single hum, appreciative of Johnny's honesty. "And Mark in particular?"

"Yeah. Him in particular."

There's a pause and Johnny drinks his whole glass of wine in one go, just to busy himself as the silence prolongs. Yuta smirks, then puts his own glass down. He moves closer, places one hand on Johnny's face and runs it down, cheek, jaw, neck. Blink of an eyelid later, he's sitting on Johnny's lap and pushing his back against the sofa.

"I think you need special treatment tonight," he announces, slowly, word by word.

"Do I?"

In response, Yuta initiates a slow and steady kiss, during which Johnny pulls at Yuta's bottom lip with his teeth and earns himself a loud moan.

"Special sex for my special boyfriend," Yuta whispers, before giving Johnny's crotch a firm squeeze.

  
  


  
  


The first full length conversation Johnny has with Mark happens after hours, when Mark stays to help him with the schemes and moodboard to be displayed for a client coming early in the morning the next day.

They're in Johnny's office and Mark prints the drawings, highlights the furniture pieces and glues the fabrics chosen by Johnny from his sample library. And somewhere in the middle of this, leaning over the presentation board and all the sample books open on the desks, they start talking. About how Mark once had a plan to study interior design himself but didn't have the money to pay the tuition anyway, and about how Johnny opened the company and it was his biggest dream to come true. They talk about their cat and Mark's music preferences, and somehow, the more Johnny hears Mark speak, the more he knows about him, the more attracted he feels. Like he sees Mark clearer, zooms onto him to catch the details of his face which he missed beforehand, like the cute mole on the man's cheek.

"Life can be so surprising," Mark goes, in that carefree voice of his that he uses once he feels comfortable enough with whoever he's talking to. His small body is propped with both arms against Johnny's desk. Johnny's watching it out of the corner of his eye. "One day I receive a message from a Japanese guy who wants me to suck his dick in a four star hotel, and now I'm here."

Johnny smiles, then looks back at the fabric samples.

Now that the conversation has broached the subject of his boyfriend, there comes a longer pause after which Mark decides to continue. "Speaking of, is everything  alright with Yuta?"

"Of course. Why are you asking?"

"He usually texts me daily," Mark explains, eyes on the board, "and I haven't heard from him for a couple of days now."

Johnny didn't know that.

Taken slightly off-guard, he needs a few seconds to form a response. "With Yuta you never know in what mood he is and what he wants from you. He's just a very... unpredictable guy."

Mark hums in agreement. He puts the glue down and finally looks back at Johnny so their eyes connect, his arms crossed against the desk, body growing slightly tense from what Johnny can notice. "I like the way you speak about him."

"Yeah?"

Mark doesn't explain. "When we went to the restaurant last time, I told him that I don't seem to know much about you."

And for a moment, Johnny's hands freeze, clenching on a pen. "To a restaurant?"

Mark notices Johnny's reaction, which prompts a change in his tone. "He didn't mention?" he asks carefully.

"No."

Another pause. "Is that... okay ?"

Johnny hesitates.

It's a question he hasn't asked himself before and doesn't know an immediate response to. Does Yuta going to a restaurant with Mark should worry him? Or just the fact that Yuta didn't speak about it the way he seems to speak about everything else. The way he spoke about each time he fucked with Mark, what positions they had, what he whispered into Mark's ear and how Mark reacted to it. Unlike all of that, he's never been told about a restaurant date. One of Yuta's favourite ones for sure. Fancy and expensive, Johnny knows them so well by now. Yuta must have booked a table for two beforehand.

"It's okay, of course it is," he goes at last, and notices how the words make Mark's body relax, at least a little.

Perhaps it's about the way Mark approaches the subject, how he waits for Johnny's reactions and analyses them, how he's careful with his words, spoken out in this soft voice he has that Johnny's so fond of. That's why warm affection sweeps through Johnny's whole body, quickly followed by a wave of excitement. Something inside him clicks. A sort of impulse that he isn't used to following, in his life of planning things out and presenting all the possibilities before making any final decision. His face heats up and he feels the rush of blood down his body.

The piece of fabric Mark was about it to glue to the board, it never gets there.  Mark drops it to the floor the moment Johnny's hands find themselves on  his  cheeks, lips pressing a hot kiss on to Mark's mouth. Talking a step back, out of sheer shock, Mark pushes  Johnny's leather office chair  and it  rolls on its wheels, with a loud noise hitting one of the shelves of a cabinet and closing it. He's searching for something to hold onto but with nothing being around, his hands end up landing on Johnny, clenching on the man's suit jacket. The kiss is sudden and intense and Mark loses his breath much quicker than he would expect, finding himself forced to pull his lips away to take a sharp, deep breath.

First few seconds, none of them speaks up and the only sound to be heard is that of Johnny's hot breaths hitting Mark's forehead.

Mark goes,  "What are we doing?"

And Johnny's eyes immediately search for the clock. Quick look, then they are fixed back on Mark.  "We're alone now," he announces the moment he knows the time. Nine pm, just the two of them in the whole building.

As Mark keeps shallowly breathing, Johnny lets his fingers wander freely around the man's face. He cups Mark's chin, small but sharp, in the palm of his one hand, as if measuring it and gauging, then goes down to the man's neck, feeling the pulse underneath his skin and watching the way his every touch makes Mark tremble.

"Are we--?"

"Nothing you don't want," Johnny  says quickly. His  hand travels between their bodies  to find a bulge in Mark's trousers, proof that they are both equally turned on. It makes Johnny feel weirdly proud of himself.

"You want us to have sex in your office?"

Johnny lets out a chuckle, amused by Mark's tone of voice, which in consequence, makes Mark chuckle as well. Johnny's lips steal a kiss off Mark's ear when he goes, "Wouldn't that be hot? I could bend you over the desk and tell you to be a good assistant and let me have you the way I want."

There's another pause and Johnny moves his head away so that they can look into each other's eyes, Mark's pupils dilated with excitement, eyes widened as much as they can. He nods his head at last, consenting, and that's all Johnny's waiting for. Just a flicker of an eyelid and Mark's body is naked and pressed against the desk by Johnny's strong hands, all the documents, sample books and the damn presentation board swept away and falling to the floor.

Johnny presses his own body to Mark's body, easily covering all of it, then kisses Mark's neck in a way that makes him shudder, visibly liking being held tight and decisively. Another impulse and Johnny says, "Yuta always tells me how you do it and what you like."

Mark sucks in a breath. His whole body curves, pushing to be even closer and betraying just how much the words turn him on, how he wants for Johnny to keep going.

"I didn't know that," he blurts out, his voice barely audible, choked out, breathless, then moans when Johnny's hand finds itself on his neck, pressing just so slightly. 

"I was told you like being praised. Being a good boy. I can do that too."

Mark closes his eyes.

  
  


  
  


The next time Yuta sends Mark a text message, it's another invitation to a restaurant. French haute cuisine. Yuta says he knows just the right place to take Mark to. Table by the window and an evening sky outside of it. There's two tall candles in the middle of their round table, their flames reflected in Mark's glasses. The music is played live by a pianist and the waiters wear black and white suits, coming up to their table with leather menu books. The way they always do in films. That's what Mark says. Yuta finds it endearing how seemingly nothing about Mark matches the ambience of the restaurant, but there's no awkwardness either.

Waiting for their order, they talk and Yuta realises that no matter what the conversation is about, he always enjoys Mark's company. And deep inside him, the feeling grows, which he couldn't name on any occasion and still isn't quite able to, a warm sensation of peace that has accompanied all of their meetings. He tries not to think about it too much.

It's only during the dessert that Mark finally takes the lead in their conversation. Cutting through a never-ending series of questions made by Yuta, about Mark's future plans, his approach to photography, his work at Johnny's company, he says, "We always talk about me."

Yuta is sitting with his chin propped on his both hands, slightly leaning towards the table, watching with interest the way Mark is munching on his foie gras parfait. It's pleasurable. And calming. As opposed to Mark's simple black sweater, he's dressed up in a velvet jacket and vivid coloured shirt. After a longer pause, as if he hasn't realised that Mark has just asked a question, he goes, "And what would you like to talk about instead?"

Mark licks the fork and puts it down. "About you?"

"Shoot away."

And so Mark does.

"How old are you exactly?" he asks, as if it's a casual question that popped into his mind between his foie gras parfait and his espresso beignet, every single of the dishes chosen for him by Yuta himself.

"Twenty eight."

Mark hums. "Just seven years of a difference," he comments, jokingly, which makes Yuta smile. The candles flickers between their faces as one of the waiters passes by. The flames flicker in Mark's big eyes. "What about Johnny?"

There's a moment of silence and Yuta sips on his wine with no hurry. "Thirty." Mark raises his eyebrows for a comical effect, as if to say that he wouldn't have guessed. "Just nine years of a difference," Yuta concludes, playfulness seeping into his voice.

"How did you first meet?"

Another pause. "I was invading his private space with a camera. "

"How long ago?"

"Five years."

Impressed by the number, Mark makes a sound low in his throat.

Something cracks in the atmosphere and Yuta can sense the moment tension passes through Mark's face. He's considering something he wants to say and Yuta can't wait to hear it.

"When you said that you and Johnny have an open relationship, did you mean sexually or also romantically?"

Yuta blinks his eyes.  "Come again?"

"You take me to restaurants. We text each other almost daily. You fixed me a job and I had sex with Johnny too--"

"You did?"

Mark ignores the question. "So I was wondering... what are we doing?"

And through the fog in his head, taken aback by the fact that Johnny possibly had sex with Mark and said nothing about it, Yuta goes, "Why are you asking?"

There's a moment of hesitation, in which Mark keeps his eyes on the table, thoughts visibly crossing his mind at a high speed. Then, he looks up, confidently. His arms crossed and propped on the table, fork left on the edge of his foie gras parfait plate, he leans towards Yuta. "I don't like being played with," he says, point blank, in a kind of voice Yuta has never heard him use. That's the moment he realises the situation. "And I don't think sex is enough for me anymore," Mark continues, carefully pronouncing every word. "I like both of you, guys. But you're not being honest with me and I don't know who you want me to be."

Yuta stays silent. Somewhere behind his back a bottle of wine is popped open. Cutlery hits plates.

The candle flames shudder in Mark's glasses because of Yuta's sudden breath out, and Mark goes, "Say something?"

Another pause. The pianist continues playing, the waiters keep manœuvering between the tables in their black and white suits. Another champagne pops open.

And then the pause stretches to its very limit and snaps and Yuta has no idea how long he's been holding his breath. Mark stands up, his chair screeching against the wooden flooring. In one swift move, he fishes his wallet out of the back pocket of his tight, blue jeans and begins counting the money.

"Mark, wait," Yuta goes, even though he has nothing else to follow it up with. Mark's just confessed his romantic interest in Johnny and himself and Yuta has no idea what to do with the information, barely able to wrap his mind around it.

"I'll pay for today," Mark goes, before putting the banknotes on the table, right beside his unfinished dessert.

Yuta doesn't know how much time it all takes but it seems to be barely a blink of an eye and Mark's already gone from the restaurant, out of Yuta's vision, not even the back of his figure on its way out can be spotted.

  
  


  
  


In the morning, Mark appears in Johnny's office asking if they can have a brief talk. There's something in Mark's voice and in the way he immediately closes the door behind himself which prompts Johnny to say, "Did something happen?"

Mark comes over to Johnny's desk but doesn't sit on either of the two guest chairs. He's slightly pale in the face, or so it seems to Johnny. There's a silence, Johnny waits, and then Mark goes straight to the point. "I don't want to lose this job. Not yet. Give me a few weeks."

Johnny doesn't understand at first. Mark's pleading voice paralyses him and the discomfort settles over the whole room in barely one split of a second. In an attempt to calm Mark down, he changes his voice to a softer note and proceeds to make a chuckle. But he feels nothing even remotely connected to amusement. In fact, he feels like shit.

"Do you think I would have sex with you and then fire you?" he asks, equally blatantly. Then suddenly unable to keep himself contained, he rubs his own neck and stands up from before his desk, so that their faces are on more or less the same level. "I mean, what we did was a bit nasty, I admit, but I'm not that kind of guy--"

Mark cuts short his explanation. "Have you talked to Yuta?"

And his boyfriend's name dropped in the middle of all this makes Johnny hiss a breath in. The situation shifts. He's alerted.

"What is going on?"

"We're not continuing whatever this is between me and Yuta." Then he adds, "But I still want to stay here."

"Can you explain to me what happened?" Johnny tries again, but somehow immediately knows that Mark won't listen.

"I would rather have you talk to your boyfriend first."

  
  


  
  


Johnny storms into their house right after work to find Yuta in the living room, alpaca shawl hanging from his shoulders and necklaces dangling over the chest, leaning himself against the back of the sofa, face towards the hall, watching Johnny approach with that facial expression Johnny can read as daring. Yuta's ready for the argument.

"You came back home and you didn't tell me anything," Johnny goes, anger in his voice making Yuta flinch. He takes his leather jacket off and throws it onto the soft before positioning himself in front of Yuta.

They're looking into each other's eyes.

"So it's about me not telling things to you?" Yuta crosses his arms. "What about you not telling me how you dicked your purchasing manager?"

There's coldness to the way he refers to Mark, as if pushing him out of the conversation, making it more about himself, all attention on Yuta. Johnny's skin momentarily prickles hot with anger. For a damn photographer documenting the world around him, Yuta can be so self-centered.

"So that's all this is about? Me sleeping with Mark?"

Yuta doesn't like Johnny's tone of voice. He clicks with his tongue. There's no positive energy around his figure, the one most of his personas carry and which Johnny's used to. He's the opposite now.

"First of all, there is a huge difference between me having sex with Mark and you doing it," he starts, his voice freezing cold.

Johnny has to take a look to the side, huffing, then taking a deep breath in, hand running over his chin. "Oh yeah? Elaborate on that."

"We had a fucking deal. I sleep with strangers when I want to top. Special circumstance."

Johnny doesn't think it through before the words rush out of his mouth, "And it's an issue when I do the same?"

Yuta's eyes narrow into slits. "It's not about sex. It's about us not agreeing on this beforehand. So you and Mark count as cheating." Johnny is about to open his mouth, a cold shiver running through his body at this one word, cheating, something Johnny would have never imagined himself do, urging him to deny it being true, but Yuta's quicker, "Second of all, he's your fucking employee right now. What if someone caught you?"

"Who could we be caught by? It's my fucking company."

"Mr Johnny So Full of Himself Seo." Yuta's grimace accelerates, and Johnny feels the features of his own face do the same. "We didn't agree on sleeping with someone we're closely entangled with. You've said it yourself. Only strangers."

"Explain to me then how you're still sleeping with this Mark guy after making him your private model, getting him a job at my fucking company and secretly taking him to restaurants."

Yuta sucks a sharp breath in. His expression changes. "Did he tell you that?"

"That you bought him a fancy dinner last weekend when you lied to me that you were at the studio? Yeah." Johnny hates the way for a second he enjoys saying words that clearly hurt his boyfriend. "So why did you keep it a secret?"

Opening his mouth, then closing it seconds after, Yuta clearly finds himself at a loss for words. And it freaks Johnny out.

He takes a step back and as he does so, their cat, who's just come downstairs, stirs and jumps to run away. Accompanied only by the cat's steps on the poetically floating staircase, the silence between the two of them turns out to be suffocatingly long, and throughout of it they keep their eyes down, on the portugese inspired tiles and teak wood flooring, respectively. It feels wrong not hear Yuta continue, not to have him angrily lead the conversation straight to the victory, the way he always does. According to this well-known to them scenario, Johnny would agree, admit Yuta's opinion to be the right one and surrender.

But Yuta says nothing.

"Babe," Johnny goes. "I've fucked up. I'm sorry."

Yuta stirs. There's hesitation on his face and Johnny allows it to linger, his apology echoing off the naked industrial brick walls and brass rods. Then, Yuta goes, "There's something else... I need to tell you about."

Johnny nods, his arms crossed on his chest the same as Yuta's, one hand covering his mouth.

"It's a misunderstanding, I swear. I mean, Mark thought that we wanted to... date him."

Another pause. Johnny's stare rushing up to catch the look in Yuta's eyes and thoughts rushing through Johnny's head, he quickly calculates his reply. "And this is not what you're after?"

"I swear I've never intended to come across like I--" he stops realising what Johnny's question was. There's a silence. He watches Johnny's face before carefully going, "Are you asking me if I would want to date Mark?"

"I'm asking if you would want for us to date Mark."

"But I know that you--"

Johnny cuts in, a sudden surge of confidence in his voice, "I would. I could be dating Mark if I knew that it's something you want too."

Yuta gives him a confused look, "Are you telling me you're into having... multiple partners?" And when Johnny mouths a silent yes, he releases a sound that's close to laugh but not exactly that. "How you can still learn something knew about someone you've known for five years." Some of the tension slowly disappears. "I would have never guessed," he admits.

Johnny's jaw relaxes, his shoulders drop. "I know that you like spending time with Mark. Just the two of you. Not only having sex. Even though you never explicitly said that."

"I'm sorry."

"And I... like knowing that. "

Yuta takes a breath in. "I don't mind you spending time alone with him either. I just... I always thought you were jealous and avoided him."

In the time he finishes the sentence, Johnny comes over to him and in one motion sweeps him onto an embrace, kissing him softly on the lips.

Already in Johnny's arms, his own arms still crossed, not yet wrapped around Johnny's neck, Yuta goes, "I really like Mark. I want to know him better." He's now whispering with his eyes closed, and the words together with the tone of his voice, vulnerable and small, so unlike all of the recent Yutas, make Johnny's heart clench with affection. He hugs the man tighter and places his chin on Yuta's shoulder.

"I want you to do just that."

"But I fucked up", Yuta admits, more like's confessing that to himself rather than to Johnny. "I didn't know what to say when he asked about it. I think I hurt him with my reaction."

"I love it when you're so caring."

Yuta sighs amused. "I sometimes am," he admits.

"I love every side of you."

Finally, Yuta's arms untangle and he hugs Johnny back, hanging his arms around Johnny's neck, taking in the smell of his boyfriend's perfumes, aftershave cream, his skin. "That's an exaggeration."

"Most of them," Johnny corrects himself.

"That's more like it." Johnny moves his head to face Yuta, kiss his lips and look for his reaction. "What do we do?" Yuta asks then. "Do you think we still have a chance?"

  
  


  
  


Standing at the door, Mark's dressed up in a white shirt tucked into a blue pair of jeans. One hand in their back pocket, he smiles, slightly awkward, then asks, "How do I look? I tried to dress up a little for the occasion."

"Very handsome," Yuta comments, his eyes travelling from Mark's thighs up to his face. There's a moment where he feels like leaning in and stealung a kiss off of Mark's cheek but manages to stop himself just in time. He has to play it all cool, perfect like it's been planned by him and Johnny.

Mark doesn't seem to seek his touch either, nor does he notice the moment of hesitation on Yuta's part. He walks inside the house without a kiss or a handshake, only smiling at the compliment. Not yet, Yuta likes to think.

"Johnny's in the kitchen," he announces, his voice holding a note of caution. "Looking after our dinner."

"Dinner," Mark repeats, visibly amused. He takes his trainers off and then drifts down the hall, knowing perfectly well which way to go, having visited the house plenty of times already. But this evening, there's a new confidence to his steps, or so Yuta imagines. To his every move and to the way he smiles, a big smile that includes his big eyes crinkling at the edges and making Yuta feel warm inside. Even more than that, his heart throbs in his chest the moment Mark finds himself in the living room area, greeting Johnny who's standing in the kitchen area beside, dressed up in a suit but with an apron fastened around his waist.

"Haven't seen you for ages," Mark jokes and it's because the day's a Friday and they must have seen each other just a couple of hours ago, at work. "So what is it?" he asks, propping his hands against the kitchen island.

"A special dish for a special guest," Johnny announces.

From behind Mark's back comes Yuta's voice, "You mean the same thing as usual." He stops by Mark's side, arms crossed against his chest. "Johnny can cook only three dishes, full stop. That's for you to know if you ever wonder why I choose going to a restaurant over staying home."

"Yuta also happens to have very exquisite culinary preferences," Johnny adds, his one hand holding a spatula in a pot, stirring Mark still doesn't know what. "You must have been acquainted already."

"I am." Mark nods his head.

He agreed to see them under the condition of their meeting being a proper first date, no beating about the bush anymore, but the view waiting for him in the living room certainly exceeds his expectations. They sit at a dining table where the plates are already set with all the cultlery beside them, swan napkins, flower petals, candles and a composition of golden vases of different size and width with different flowers inside them. There's still some tension left in the air, sparkles popping every now and then when their three minds, not yet coordinated in conversation, awkwardly pause with nobody knowing who should speak up.

But then. Gradually, the uneasiness disappears. Yuta pours in champagne.

"Just to make it clear," Johnny goes, as they move over to the sofa, Mark seated in the middle one leg folded under his bottom. Despite the two glasses he's already downed, his voice sounds precise and serious. "We both feel really shitty about what happened. And how we played it all out. I mean, you weren't exactly in our plans in the first place." He moves his hand to indicate the table, silver watch reflecting the candles. "This wasn't in our plans," he precises.

"I know." Mark pauses. There's a smile playing around his lips. "You weren't exactly in my plans either."

"I'm glad that our plans changed." Yuta leans in to see both Johnny and Mark, one hand folded over the back of the sofa. "Otherwise, maybe we would be only having sex now."

Mark turns his head towards Yuta, and the moment he replies, his voice carries a tone of naughtiness which Yuta knows but hasn't heard the whole evening until now. "We could do that too."

Yuta's hands itch to touch Mark's cheek and swipe a strand of his black hair off his forehead, but instead, he asks, "On which date do you usually go to bed with guys?"

Amused by Yuta's question, which, Yuta realises, must be quite unlike himself, Mark releases a sweet laugh. "That depends. I can do it on the first date if I really want to."

"Hold this thought," Yuta goes, then puts his wine on the table, as if it being in his hand takes away from the seriousness of his words. The collection of piercings and earrings twirls and shines on his ear, together with the pins on his necktie. "We wanted to say something more." When Mark raises one eyebrow, Yuta explains, "Johnny likes having things planned."

"And you guys planned some things to tell me?"

Yuta clears his throat. "We wanted to say that we know that it may be a bit weird..." He makes a vague gesture with his heavily ringed fingers. "...since me and Johnny, we've known each other for years and you're perfectly new to us... but we're willing to learn."

Johnny rephrases his words, "We're serious about it."

Now, Mark turns his head towards Johnny. He chuckles but doesn't say anything, and only gives Johnny a look, Yuta can't tell what kind, seeing only Mark's profile from where he's seated. The eye-contact lasts much longer than any of the previous ones and there's no nervousness to the silence. And then, Mark goes, "Your respect makes me very horny right now."

"Yeah?"

There's another pause. Mark changes his position, lifts himself off the sofa to relocate his body onto Johnny's lap, sitting astride. Pause. Quick look in Yuta's direction. Then he says, "Exquisite dinner, Mr Seo," and leans in, his hands taking hold of Johnny's suit jacket, lips pressing a kiss onto Johnny's lips. The next time Mark speaks up, his words are directed towards Yuta even though he isn't looking directly at him, "I know for a fact that your boyfriend is getting hard right now. What about you?"

"I love hearing that."


End file.
